New Orleans , Louisiana -LRB- CNN -RRB- -- The lengthy documents they initially were asked to sign used language even a native English speaker would struggle to understand .

The Vietnamese interpreters BP first brought in for safety and cleanup training stirred painful memories and suspicions because they spoke to the elders with a North Vietnamese dialect and used what some described as `` Communist terminology . ''

The closings of fishing areas have been announced on radio stations these fishermen do n't follow , so some have piloted their boats where they should n't , which means tickets from the Coast Guard keep coming .

For the Vietnamese-Americans living in the Gulf Coast region , the oil disaster is especially complicated . It 's made murky by language barriers , cultural misunderstandings and a history of challenges that have shaped them for more than half a century .

Their ties to seafood run deep and wide . A third of all fishermen in the Gulf are Vietnamese , making them arguably the most affected minority out there . More than 24,000 people of Vietnamese origin live in Louisiana , according to the last completed census . About 6,000 live within a two-mile radius in the neighborhood of New Orleans East -- distinguishing it , the area 's priest says , as the greatest concentration of Vietnamese people outside of Vietnam .

In the rectory of Mary Queen of Vietnam Church , the Rev. Vien Nguyen sits in front of an altar to his ancestors and his Catholic faith . Religious texts in English and his native tongue fill the high shelves around him , as do books bearing titles like `` Freshwater Crayfish Aquaculture , '' `` The Evolution of Cajun & Creole Cuisine '' and Franz Kafka 's `` The Trial . ''

Here , he introduces some of the Kafkaesque oil-disaster trials facing his own people .

He talks about their distrust of lawyers -- `` sharks , '' he calls them -- who 've come in from out of state , circling them with promises and confusing papers . He mentions the mental health concerns -- depression , lack of sleep , tensions in homes -- that need to be addressed , a task made difficult by an absence of Vietnamese-speaking therapists in a community that still stigmatizes admissions of emotional trouble . He worries about the lack of job training and opportunities for a people who 've worked in an industry that may suffer for God knows how long .

`` These are proud , active people who contribute to their own livelihood , and now they have to be in lines , '' asking for handouts , he says . `` It is a devastating blow . ''

About 80 percent of Vietnamese-Americans in the Gulf region are connected to the seafood industry through jobs that include fishing , shucking oysters , packing shrimp , and running stores and restaurants , the priest and others say .

The work they do is something many brought with them from fishing villages in their native land , a place most of them fled as `` boat people '' after the 1975 fall of Saigon and the end of the Vietnam War . That departure was for many the second time they 'd become refugees . They 'd already uprooted themselves and started over with nothing in 1954 , when their country divided into North and South and they , as the Catholic minority living in Vietnam , ran from the Communist rule that took over the North .

The former Archbishop Philip Hannan of the Archdiocese of New Orleans reached out to them in refugee camps in America , inviting them to call his home theirs . So they came here in the '70s and '80s with the help of Catholic Charities and , over the next 30 years , reinvented their lives once more -- in a climate reminiscent of the country they 'd left behind .

They worked hard in a familiar industry that did n't require them to master English , often leaving their children to be cared for by older siblings and relatives so they could put in long days . They created a self-reliant community where their own local businesses thrived . They planted acres of vegetable gardens along levees , incorporating the agricultural roots of their ancestors .

Today , people wearing the traditional conical straw hats stoop in their cultivated yards or walk along streets with names like Saigon Drive . A trailer , lined with coolers of freshly caught shrimp for sale at hiked-up prices , is parked in front of a strip mall that includes Tram Anh Video , Kim Tram Jewelry and Tien Pharmacy .

Hurricane Katrina five years ago marked the third time they lost everything and had to start over . But it was also the storm that gave them a voice .

The documentary `` A Village Called Versailles '' -- a reference to the public housing project where they first settled -- debuted on PBS last month . It chronicles how the Vietnamese-Americans living in New Orleans East galvanized after Katrina , making theirs among the first neighborhoods to rebuild .

Grass-roots organizers established agencies to fight for assistance and empower people , including one for youth called the Vietnamese American Young Leaders Association of New Orleans -LRB- VAYLA-NO -RRB- . The church , which began holding Mass just six weeks after the floodwaters destroyed what they 'd created , became a staging ground for construction help and community meals . Health clinics sprouted up , as did a new charter school . And collectively , they protested a planned 90-foot-high landfill of hurricane debris on their neighborhood 's edge , shutting down a move by the city government that they 'd never confronted en masse before .

A few years later , in 2008 , they 'd help elect the nation 's first Vietnamese-American congressman , Louisiana Republican Anh `` Joseph '' Cao .

The next challenge : oil

Over a bowl of homemade pho , a Vietnamese beef noodle soup , Tuan Nguyen provides a glimpse into how the community is mobilizing to face its newest challenge .

He 's the 30-year-old deputy director of the Mary Queen of Vietnam Community Development Corporation -LRB- MQVN CDC -RRB- , established after Katrina , and serves on the rapid response team created by Cao after the oil disaster . Along with others on the team , he 's been crisscrossing the region , meeting with fishermen and others -- not just Vietnamese -- to assess their needs , gather testimonies , answer questions and advocate on their behalf .

They 've succeeded in gaining the ear of a BP official , Larry Thomas , who among other things has approved the hiring of qualified and trained bilingual interpreters .

`` We had never been exposed to the Vietnamese community , '' says Thomas , the BP manager of government and public affairs for the lower 48 states and the Gulf of Mexico . `` Clearly , it 's a tight-knit community , and it 's been a steep learning curve for us . The interaction has been great . ''

Even with all he knows about navigating the system and securing whatever assistance is available , whether that 's food stamps or BP claim dollars , Nguyen ca n't persuade some of his own relatives to get the help they so desperately need .

`` One of my wife 's uncles is a very proud man . He 's a deckhand . I told him to come in and talk about services , '' Nguyen says . `` He said , ' I ca n't stand in line . What if someone sees me ? ' ''

While his wife 's uncle wo n't accept assistance , others in the state have driven hours to get simple answers to questions from agencies like the MQVN CDC . The hope , Nguyen and others say , is that grass-roots organizations will sprout up elsewhere to help meet the growing and often different community needs .

One such organization has already been formed in Biloxi , Mississippi , an area that is home to about 5,000 Vietnamese-Americans . The Mississippi Coalition of Vietnamese American Fisherfolk and Families , led by volunteers , is hoping to step in where the New Orleans organizations logistically ca n't .

Celina Tran , 36 , is working full-time -- on top of her real estate broker job -- to help wherever she can . She 's accompanying people to the BP claims office . She 's meeting with fisherfolk to discuss their concerns and recognizes with frustration how unqualified she is to talk to them about fights in their marriages . She 's sending testimonials to the state judiciary , in an attempt to force Mississippi to expand assistance opportunities .

And all the while , she 's worrying about what the future holds . She sees families falling behind on mortgages -- for their homes and their boats . At about $ 1 million a pop , many of the big Biloxi vessels require payments of $ 10,000 to $ 15,000 a month . The up to $ 5,000 a month that BP is paying out to captains and boat owners is of little comfort to them , especially when there are home mortgages , too , college tuition payments and more .

`` They 've been doing this for 45 years , 50 years of their life . They 've relied on each other , '' Tran says . `` If this drags out , it will only get worse . ''

Nearly 180 miles away , back over the Louisiana state line , Ngoc Nguyen is racing around with her clipboard . She and her husband own St. Vincent Seafood in Leeville , a small fishing community . It 's a business they took over from her father-in-law , who 's standing around the dock in his `` Luck of the Irish '' T-shirt .

The shrimp being unloaded off their boat amounts to a third of what they usually bring in , says Nguyen , 27 . It was out for two months , but given water closures imposed because of the oil disaster , access to shrimp was limited .

`` There 's nothing else we can do , '' she says , refusing to ponder what the family 's alternative would be if life does n't get back to normal , and soon . `` We 've never invested in anything else . It 's all seafood . ''

But Rep. Cao holds out hope that the Vietnamese community in the Gulf will pull through -- because it always has .

`` We are resilient people . We are survivors , '' he says . `` It 's an obstacle in life , and we will overcome it . And we will emerge stronger . ''

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Language and cultural barriers , troubled history complicate oil disaster for Vietnamese

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Seafood industry is lifeline for 80 percent of Vietnamese living in the Gulf region

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Starting over not new for people who came here as refugees and rebuilt after Katrina

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Congressman Anh `` Joseph '' Cao : `` We are resilient people . We are survivors . ''